“Oh, nothing. I don’t have a business.” She bites her bottom lip with a smile. “Well, I’ve been doing a little writing. It’s starting to flow again. My new therapist says sometimes, you have to force it, you can’t wait for inspiration to strike because it might not.” A strand of hair falls over her face, and I’m tempted to tuck it behind her ear.
I keep my hands to myself. “New therapist?”
She nods. “Cindy. She got me into journaling in the mornings. It has to be first thing, and it changes my whole day.”
“Is that what this is about?”
She looks lovingly at the journal in my hand. “No. I started that when we met. I had a feeling you and I could fill a book, but I was afraid what you’d think if you knew. I obsessed, Finn. You were my coffee, did you know?”
I bring my drink to my mouth, appreciating its warmth. “I think so.”
Because you were mine.
“I wrote about you when I wasn’t with you. Not all the time, but some days. We only filled it halfway.” She frowns. “So when my therapist suggested journaling, I decided to do it in there some days. So I could look back on my transformation.”
“Shouldn’t you keep it then?”
“Consider it a belated birthday present.”
I grip the book. This gift is better than anything she could’ve bought, and she knows that. It’s just one more way to understand, to know her inside out, the love of my life. Maybe her obsession with me has quelled, I’m afraid to ask, but mine with her is strong as ever.
“Speaking of coffee. Are you still drinking it?”
“In moderation.” She holds up the cup to make a point. “I still have my urges, but now I try to write about it instead of act on it. It doesn’t always work, but it helps. And I’m back on antidepressants, just a different brand and a lower dosage. We’re experimenting. Cindy promises it isn’t forever.”
“Yeah,” I nearly whisper. “Can’t have my girl losing her fire.”
She chews the inside of her cheek, glancing at my lips. “Do you miss it? Us together?”
I make a fist around the leather in my hand. “I thought it couldn’t get any worse than when Sadie left, but this feels like sleeping on a bed knives and waking up every morning with re-opened wounds. You know what it’s like for me to live where you’ve slept, eaten, come?”
She blushes. “I wouldn’t be able to do it. I’d have moved out.”
I can hear the pain in her voice. I didn’t think I could be any more miserable, but seeing her miserable too makes it worse. I know going back to therapy was no easier than leaving her stable relationship with Rich. She could’ve gotten back together with him, gone back to that easy life. Instead, she went outside her comfort zone, made new friends, continued to follow her passion. I tuck the journal under one arm and finally reach out for that lock of hair. It feels like the softest, finest silk between my fingers. I move it behind her ear, grazing the tattoo. “I have Marissa this weekend, but why don’t we get dinner next week? See how it is?”
She takes my wrist. It’s cold, her hand that isn’t holding the coffee, and I want to warm it with my lips. But she pulls my hand away from her face. “No.”
No. Did I misread her just now? Did I imagine everything backward these past weeks, assuming she was as broken up about this as I was? I make a fist and put it in my lap. “Why not, Hals?”
“Because I still have work to do on myself. And so do you.”
“I know I do. I’ve been taking on more commercial work, trying to see it in a more positive way. Just because it’s notart, doesn’t mean it’s not valuable.” I pause. “And just because something’s right doesn’t mean it’ll come together effortlessly. Like with you. We have to work at it.”
“You’re right, but it’s not enough. I need you to let me into all parts of your life. I want to meet Marissa and maybe even Kendra. If we’re going to do this for real.”
I try not to look as frightened as I feel hearing that. My relationship with Halston is a breeze compared to the mess that is my other life. Just one mess after another, I suppose. Maybe it’s time to meld them all. “I’ll work on it,” I say. “Not this month, and maybe not next, but I’ll start the conversation with Kendra.”
She smiles a little and stands. “I have to go, or I’m afraid I’ll change my mind. I want to meet you again when I’m a better version of myself—myrealself.”
“How long?” I ask. “Maybe we can just start now, but take it slow.”
She kisses the tips of her fingers and presses them to my cheek. “Not yet.”
33
When I come out of my room, Benny’s sprawled out on the couch in front of the TV. “Have you watched this show,The Real World?” she asks.
“Um, yes,” I say, “everybody has.”
